


kunglighetens stretar

by Tarredion



Series: fjäll med stjärnor - universe [2]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prequel, Snapshots, daily life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:02:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21987103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarredion/pseuds/Tarredion
Summary: The son of a lord and a rather imaginative boy, Phil Lester's dreams and wishes clash with his duties and the needs of his people as he grows up.This story consists of memories and small looks into his private and public life, before his real adventure begins..Phil's prequel story to 'fjäll med stjärnor', though it does not have to be read for this one to be understood.. maybe(title is Swedish for 'struggles of royalty')
Series: fjäll med stjärnor - universe [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1582708
Kudos: 1





	kunglighetens stretar

The moonlight was cold and shimmering, reflecting off his pale skin like a gigantic white torch. The way its rays danced through the glass window was as if reaching an icy but helping hand into his room, to stroke his fears and worries and looming expectations away from his clammy skin, like his mother always did. And now she could not, for she was traveling with Phi’s father, meeting with merchants and royals of distant lands.

Phil tugged the furry duvet even higher towards the top of his head, letting the edge curve across his clattering jaw, and tickle the top of his cupids bow. The smoothness of the bear fur tickled him and warmed him greatly, and for a moment he was calmed and alright. The next he was reminded of his mother’s soft and long hair, the smell of her humble perfume, and her soothing voice, and the mere memory watered his eyes, threatening him with bursting into tears.

He pulled himself out of his king-sized bed, his small feet hitting the floor with no more sound than a scuttering mouse would make. A comfortable, creamy, light blue tunic fell over his head, and shortly he pushed the heavy oak door open with his two slipper-clad feet shuffling him outside.

Silence echoed in the halls of the Lester’s big mansion-esque home. Phil, being only seven years old and a scrawny ginger boy, made no sound as he traversed the house, climbing staircases with steps too big for his feet and running across the wide floors padded with red (and grimy) carpet.

For being so young, however, he was rather clever and quick-thinking. At the same time he had yet to lose his creativity in favor of being a workaholic, like the peers his age had done ages ago. It favored him now, as he whispered songs and tales under his breath while running as fast as he could on light feet around the house, reenacting every word of every story he remembered his mother and grandparents had told him about. 

Most of them were about dragons.

Phil’s jumping about in the dark of the ballroom, envisioning a dance of dragons and humans and elves and creatures of all kinds, when the wide doors creaked open, the flickering orange light of a torch cutting like a knife into the silence from the other side. He froze, wide eyes locked with his fourteen-year-old brother’s sagging and tired ones, one arm in the air lifting up an  _ unlit _ torch like a sword.

Martyn rubbed his own eye with his free hand before speaking up, his voice raspy and defeated, but also nurturing and understanding. “Put the chairs back, and then let’s go back to bed, okay Philip..” he beckoned him, with his words as well as with his hand. Phil gave him a curt little nod, a faint blush lighting up and dancing across his pale cheeks, and he followed his brother words in a flash.

Walking up to the patio that holds their rooms, Martyn grasped his younger brother’s shoulders with his free hand, locking his guilt-ridden eyes with a comforting smile.

“Next time you’re feeling restless or in vain.. you know you can just come knock on my door, alright?” he said, a silent whisper on his tongue. Phil gives him a nod, and a hug, which goes on for quite some time, and then he’s back in his oversized bed again, the roof and the moon staring him down.

This time he’s not scared, even if he still wishes for his mother’s hand in his. He has been reminded they’ll be back soon, both of his parents, and he knows so well how good his brother is at managing the village without them around.

This time a warmth creeps up on him, settling in his chest, and he dreams, of distant lands reaching his home with singing birds and tales of old. He is safe, even with the intimidating darkness and the pressuring moon above his head.

He may find comfort in his dragons and stories and tales, but he’ll just have to do it here, in sleep in his own, soft bed.


End file.
